


without you is how i disappear

by sakura_freefall



Series: 'cause the hardest part of this was leaving you [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, But it's already happened, Character Death, Established Relationship, Ghost!taire, Grief/Mourning, Healthy Communication, Hurt/Comfort, It doesn't happen in the actual fic, It's ok though, M/M, enjoltaire - Freeform, from a tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakura_freefall/pseuds/sakura_freefall
Summary: “You aren’t real. I’m not going to let you do this to me anymore,” he says, more to himself than the thing in his kitchen.“What the hell do you mean, I’m not real?”“Because,” growls Enjolras, gritting his teeth, “You died a month and 18 days ago and ghosts don’t exist.”
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: 'cause the hardest part of this was leaving you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118507
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	without you is how i disappear

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally from my tumblr, dauntless-sakura, for a prompt meme.
> 
> 15\. I'm not going to let you do this to me anymore // 18. I would've taken a bullet for you

“What the fuck.”

Enjolras is making toast, because that’s really all he can bring himself to do these days- or he _was_ making toast before his dead boyfriend appeared in the middle of his kitchen.

_I didn’t mean to startle you,_ Grantaire- the ghost- whatever it is- says quietly, in what his idea of a placating tone apparently is.

“Why the fuck are you in my kitchen?” Enjolras’s brain has gone full-on autopilot, and that’s a good thing because otherwise he is pretty sure he’d pass out.

_Shit, are you, like, mad? Because I- um, sorry? Bad time?_

“You aren’t real. I’m not going to let you do this to me anymore,” he says, more to himself than the _thing_ in his kitchen. He thought he was over the stupid fucking hallucinations, he’d seen the therapist even though he hated the therapist, he’d taken the pills, it had been over a month! Things were supposed to be improving!

_What the hell do you mean, I’m not real?_

“Because,” growls Enjolras, gritting his teeth, “You died a month and 18 days ago and ghosts don’t exist.”

_Oh yeah, about that, I owe Combeferre money. Give him my paypal or something._

“No. What the fuck am I supposed to say to him?”

The ghost rolls its eyes in mock surrender. _I feel like you don’t want me here._

_Dammit, Enjolras,_ he thinks. _Get it the fuck together._

“No, I want the real Grantaire back. Not this... hallucination bullshit.”

_You really think... you really think I’m not real._

Enjolras leans his head against the wall. “Obviously. Listen, I’m going to take a fucking nap and you’ll be gone, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He is done with whatever game this is. He buries his head under the pillow and pulls the blankets over him. He still isn't used to being the only one in a bed sized for two.

_Enjolras?_

Enjolras wakes with a start. Had Combeferre or Courfeyrac come over? Had he even given them the key? 

Grantaire- the ghost- stands awkwardly in the corner, looking like he’d been caught red-handed doing something wrong.

“The fuck?

_It’s five in the evening. You slept the entire morning and most of the afternoon._

“No, I mean why- can you just-” Enjolras screams in frustration, a deep guttural noise that probably scared the cat into hiding under the sink. “If you really are Grantaire, why- why are you here?”

_Honestly I don’t have a fucking clue. I remember dying, sort of. Like, I remember the hospital and you were really upset? And then everything kind of... blanked. And then I woke up except I didn’t. Does that make sense?_

“No. Continue.”

_Anyways, I was pretty fucking confused,_ Grantaire says, shrugging. _And Jehan told me not to try and contact you yet because it would make it worse for you. Grief processing or something._

“Wait, did you just say _Jehan talked to you?!”_

_Yeah. It was probably shit advice, but I didn’t want to risk it._ Enjolras shoves the Jehan-talking-to-ghosts revelation in the back of his mind, because he just cannot deal with that right now.

“Then why are you here now?” Enjolras can’t believe that he is doing this, having a conversation with the hallucination/ghost of his boyfriend. This isn't normal activity, at least in his opinion.

_Because I just gave up, okay? I couldn’t take it, seeing you beat the ever-loving hell out of yourself. And so I thought, screw the healthy grieving process, I’m going to talk to you. And. Well. Apologize too, I guess._

“Apologize?” he asks numbly.

_You see, I promised- I promised you I’d do all this shit. Marry you, quit drinking, help you make your flyers, fix the stove boiler, all of that. So I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you down like this, okay?_

“Grantaire,” whispers Enjolras, half-hysterical. “You- you _died_ and then now you’re here fucking apologizing to me for all of that? I- I should be the one apologizing to you! I should never have let you go to that stupid party by yourself just because I had work, I should’ve- I don’t know, I should’ve done better! I would’ve taken that bullet for you, you know that?”

_Please don’t take a bullet for me, Apollo. I’d argue with you but I don’t think either of us want to have a debate right now,_ he says bluntly. _So can we just... it cancels out, right? You’re sorry. I’m sorry. Can we... not fight right now? Please?_ The tremor in Grantaire’s voice shoves a crack through Enjolras’s heart, and he shoves his face into the pillow, sobbing.

_Enjolras?_

“Grantaire... Grantaire, why did you have to leave?”

_I’m sorry. I’m... this is the best I can do._

“Can you hold me?” Enjolras whimpers, not sure if ghosts can touch people or, really, anything anymore. He’s never been so unsure in his life.

_’Course I can,_ Grantaire sooths, and Enjolras feels a light, cool pressure settle around him. _I’ll stay right here._

“Please don’t disappear...” Enjolras doesn't think he would be able to handle Grantaire coming back only to leave again.

_Oh, no. I won’t go. Not until you’re here with me and then we can go together. I promise. And I can visit those theatre shows and art galleries without paying, isn’t that neat?_

“That’s illegal, Grantaire.”

_They’re all run by capitalist pigs anyway. But like, half-price dates, am I right?_

“How on earth are we going to make this work?” Enjolras asks, feeling a stab that is simultaneously hope and disappointment. “I mean, I’m gonna keep getting older, and a million other things. I don’t want it to change.”

The cool feeling moved closer and tighter. _We’ll figure it out. It’s gonna be different but we’ll figure it out. If you want to, I mean. I understand if you want to move on from me, or date someone else._

“Grantaire, even if you didn’t come back, I’d never date someone else, honestly. It wouldn’t be the same.”

_Ah, I forgot. You aren’t the casual summer love type._

“Obviously.”

_Look at me, Enjolras,_ Grantaire says suddenly. Enjolras turns around in the bed to face Grantaire, who is translucent with only the faintest traces of color. His eyes though, are much the same. _I love you. And this isn’t going to change that. I promise._

"Promise?" Promises, Enjolras knows, are stupid, flighty things that get broken more often than not. But he makes them regardless.

_I said I promise. Now as much as I'd like to stay here all night, you need to eat. Something that isn't toast._ He holds up a hand before Enjolras can protest. _Or cereal. Or those gross microwaveable ethically-sourced grass-fed sausages. There could be intestines in there for all you know._

"Th- this is why you do the cooking. Did the cooking. I don't know."

_I can tell you how to make pasta. That isn't boxed mac and cheese. It's sort of easy. Or you could make, like, a sandwich. Wait, no, you hate those._

"Compromise," Enjolras puts forth. He's not sure how his brain hasn't exploded from the sheer mental pressure. He is debating a ghost about healthy food options. A ghost who for most of his life lived mainly off of sliced ham and packs of Skittles. "I'll eat the weird chicken casserole Combeferre brought over. It's not junk food, and I can microwave it."

_Deal._


End file.
